SANTA LUCIA.

THE VOICE OF THE LORD IS UPON THE WATERS.-PSALM XXIX. 3.

ALAS! the baleful hour!

On evil wings it flew ;

When they, who owned their Maker's power,

No more their Maker knew;

No longer dared, if He was nigh,

Lift to His face a filial eye!

Lo! where His thunder's voice
Rolls on the murky air,

Bidding His little ones rejoice,
That He their God is there;

They flee-and fear within their way
A lion roaring for his prey!

K

True! there is storm abroad,
And foams the raging brine;
Fierce flashings of Jehovah's sword
Athwart the darkness shine;

The labouring tempest heaves its breath,
In sobs, all ominous of death!

Fear spreads his wing around, Beasts to their covert haste; Birds flutter wildly at the sound,

And scream along the waste

E'en yon dark mountain stoops its brow,
And stays its fiery founts below!

Earth trembles to her base!

He comes in swathed gloom; And bolts of flame before His face, Proclaim the guilty's doom!

For earth the Heav'ns their tear-drops weep, As speeds His chariot o'er the deep!

Chief of the works of God,
Let man his Maker hail!

Since, shrinking 'neath the uplifted rod,
The nerves of Nature fail!

Ah me! with foot of fear, aghast,
Man flies before the avenging blast!

But wherefore should I fear,
Or from His presence flee?
It is His well-known voice I hear,

It is His eye I see!

What tho' He come in night and storm, Throned on dark waves I trace His form!

I love to note the waters dash

Their angry foam on high,

I love to mark the broad quick flash
Blaze up the troubled sky,

To hear from out the thick'ning cloud
The thunder mutter in his shroud!

I love to see the storm awake,
Like giant from his sleep,
His cloudy mantle round him shake,
And stalk along the deep:-
To hear each louder peal on high,
Proclaim his sounding footsteps nigh!

I love, as now, to tread the shore,
And note the ridgy wave
Beneath his fitful fury roar,

And topple to its grave;

Then lift its hands, and ask the rock
A refuge from the tempest's shock.

I love it for I dim behold

The might of that broad hand, That shields me in its ample fold, While scourging sea and land; That bows the storm, however wild, To kiss, not kill, his feeble child!

Why should I fear? one with my Lord,
I know no more His wrath-
The flashing of His judgment-sword,
Can never glare my path-

I fearless stand the storm beside,
If Love the mighty weapon guide!

THE NEW YORK · PUBLIC LIBRARY.į

STOR, LENO

DEN FOUND AN